Birth of an Artist
by Chatch
Summary: Based on my band experience. What happens when you are the sole low brass member? Jay Peterson must face a new band director, a turf war between sections, and his romantic rival if he is to survive the band's adventures.


A gust of warm October air hit me as I took a step outside the band room. My day had been a roller coaster of emotions and I needed to unwind before the football game. Turning my head I saw my friend toss a football into the air before it disappeared behind the crimson skyline.

Catching it out of the air Jack Key turned to look at his competitors. "Bro, I got this. You know what? Two on one I'll take you both on." He said with a dramatic fire in his eye.

A flash of nervousness appeared on James Valdez's face. "Uh are you sure you want to do that?"

"Hell yeah I'm sure." Jack screamed throwing the ball back.

"Well, I warned ya." James said handing the ball to his partner Kirk.

With a simple "Woop" Kirk Mann chucked the ball as hard as he could in Jack's direction. The ball flew toward the ground, Jack leaped at it only to fling mud in his face and have the ball bounce off his head.

He began to roar in his mild country accent. "My eye, I can't see. Where'd it go? Where'd it go?"

From the sideline I could hear Kristin Mangrum yell, "Left! It's on the left!"

The ball stopped rolling at Roy Bird's feet. He stood there with a dumbfounded expression before grabbing the ball and running with it. Good God they'll kill him trying to get that thing, I thought. I quickly rushed to my feet to save the poor nerd's life. Before I could reach him he was tackled to the ground by James. As he fell to the ground he tossed the ball in my direction hoping for salvation.

Easily out running James I handed the ball over to a group of by-standing middle-schoolers before Kirk decided to join the action. As Kirk drew closer the kid with the ball chucked it into the air causing it to land on the roof.

We all froze. The ginger that threw the ball flinched as we all gathered around him, Kirk giving him a condescending golf clap.

"Sorry dudes I didn't mean to." The kid said in defense.

Jack came over to the kid while wiping the mud from his eyes. "Hey, don't worry about it I can get it."

He then went near the awning and hopped on top of a tree that was growing in the courtyard. Jack kept climbing until he could just reach the edge of the awning. With a leap of faith, he grabbed the side and pulled himself higher. Standing triumphantly above our heads he threw the ball back to the ground. Suddenly a high pitched voice filled the air that could only mean trouble.

"Jack Key get off the roof!" screamed our band director. Mr. Nash's steely glare was as cold as ice, no doubt everything that could ever go wrong raced just behind his eyes.

Jack merely shrugged the concerns off, apparently having left all his worries down on the ground. His body lurched forward in a stance that seemed to belong more to an animal than a human. Raising his fist and head to the sky he released all his energy in an ape-like growl.

"Hoo. Hoo. Hoo." Jack slowly began from his chest gesturing for Kirk and James to join in.

As his fellow animals mimicked the growl it became faster and more cult-like. The moment a crowd began to form Nash disassociated himself by running inside to avoid further embarrassment. Hyped up energy was seemingly spewing from their mouths by the time Jack leaped from the roof to fall on his feet forming a circle with his brethren.

"HOO! HOO! HOO! HOO! HOO! HOO!" They chanted like fools while jumping and fist pumping the air. Anyone who could hear was staring in their direction. I stared for a moment before shrugging, a little fun couldn't hurt, joining the clan around the circle with the middle-schoolers following suit.

It was around a minute before I rejoined the civilized world. At this point I searched for my large friend Roy who had disappeared once the ball reached the roof.

I walked back indoors to scan the white walls of the band room for him. Not finding what I was looking for I checked the instrument room for him (or the L room as we call it because of its shape). I then spotted his familiar flannel shirt sitting in solitude on the shelf that held my instrument. He wore a melancholy face as he seemed to be in an extreme state of negative introspection.

"Roy." I made my presence known after walking further in the room.

He jumped as though he hadn't noticed my body seemingly pop up from nowhere. "Hey, Jay." Roy tried to act nonchalant with his thousand-mile stare fading from existence. "What's up, my dude?"

"What are doing in here?" I curiously asked.

"Homework." He said shortly. I raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "What, you don't believe me?"

"You are a bad lier." I told him. "Is there something bothering you?"

Realizing I could see right through his facade, he dropped the mask. Deep worry lines became etched in my friend's face. I could tell whatever was troubling him had been hiding for a while.

"The second I got the ball I was tackled." Roy elaborated.

"So?" I was confused on where this might be headed.

"Well I just kinda wanted to have a chance to show off for everybody. No one in the band ever acknowledges someone who always seems to fumble around." He looked up at me with genuine sorrow in his eyes. "I just kinda want to be like you, like you know able to fit in."

I had to scoff at his analysis. "Fit in? Roy, you are talking to the biggest oddball on the face of the planet. I have never fit in especially not with these people. I probably have more in common with you than anyone else in the whole band." The words practically poured out of my mouth in a mellowed chuckle.

"Then how did you get them to respect you?" A confused look began to form on Roy's face.

"To be honest, I have no idea."

His head reeled back in surprise. "You don't?"

My analytical friend was truly perplexed. He needed more. "But how did you get to where you are now? I want to know how I can get there." There was a constant quiver of desperation in his voice.

I figured the best I could do was to start from the beginning and hope he got what he needed. "Well Roy I suppose it's a long story but it's all thanks to my time in this band. First I'd have to take you back because my story began when any good band story should begin. Band camp."

o . O . o

Fire. I felt like I was melting. The sun stood above us having a sweet time roasting some rookie band kids. It was the first block of the first day of my first year marching. My trombone felt like a mountain in my pencil sized arms. Every moment was agony, I felt like I wanted to die. I wasn't ready to endure the sacred trails that every band kid must go through. However, this is where I was born.

Most marching groups when being taught basics have a nice green field, some of them even have sprinklers to keep from getting too hot. The Meadow High School Band is not so fortunate. Since none of the coaches want us nasty band kids to mess with their beloved fields, we are forced to paint the yard lines of a football field in the parking lot. The uneven asphalt always feels as though we were walking on the surface Mars. Yet, no matter how bad the heat gets, that parking lot always feels like home.

"And relax." Finally came the voice of Mr. Nash. Those words sounded like angels from above. While most of us went limp Nash continued his lecture, "Many of you rookies are likely thinking you are about to die, that I am trying to kill you or something. You are not in pain you are just experiencing discomfort. It is important to learn the difference."

Easy for you to say, I thought, you get to stand on the sidelines in the shade.

As Nash went over the tediousness of fundamentals I looked my new band director up and down to try and figure him out. He was tall and still retained a youthful glow to him, in fact when I had met him earlier that day he looked so young that I nearly mistook him for a student. He wore dark framed square glasses, had short blonde hair, with an athletic build that seemed to hint at a very active background. The way he had perked up as soon as we started to do drill made it seem as though he found the idea to be a comforting one. Where was this guy from, Venus?

"Set your instruments down and grab some water." We were eventually told.

I sat my trombone on the ground and followed the crowd over to the shade. I glanced around at everyone to find a clear difference between the rookies and the vets. While the vets were chilling and hanging out, the rookies looked like they had just endured some sort of traumatic experience. I looked over to one mushy looking kid who acted like he had just undergone a lobotomy.

One upperclassmen with an odd neck-beard came over to a group of us rookies and said, "Hello children this is what band feels like. It is strongly encouraged that you drink water otherwise you will die. No seriously you will die."

Hearing this I realized my first big mistake. It was the hottest day of summer, we were spending hours in a parking lot, and I neglected to bring a bottle of water. My mouth felt incredibly dry, and I could feel my energy slowly fade. With panic racing through my mind I scanned for anyone who could help.

My eyes landed on the only person I felt I could trust not to poison me. Sam Nagel. He was a tall kid with long skinny features, black hair, and wore a Hawaiian T-shirt. All I seemed to notice however was the gallon sized jug at his feet.

I crawled over to him and gestured that I was about to ask something before he interrupted me saying, "You want to borrow some water. Sure go ahead, just waterfall it."

Without a second's hesitation I grabbed his water and started chugging like it was St. Patrick's Day. As the cool liquid flowed down my throat and dripped down my shirt, I felt my energy return.

Pulling the jug from my face I looked at Sam and asked, "How did you know I was about to ask for water?"

He just lifted his eyebrows and smugly. "Dude, you looked like you were ten seconds away from being hospitalized."

"Oh." I replied embarrassed. "So why did you bring a gallon of water?"

"My mom did guard. She knew from experience that band camp can be just the worst."

"That makes sense I suppose."

Sam looked around and asked me, "So how are you liking the rest of the low brass?"

I shifted uncomfortably. "Well from what I can tell, I'm the only one. It's like middle school all over again."

"Really there's no one else?"

"Well there is a tuba player but he seems to be off doing his own thing." I retracted my former statement. "Besides he's an eighth grader."

Sam made a slight shutter. "I can't stand most of the eighth graders. Like half of the alto saxes are still in middle school, makes me kinda glad I'm the only tener."

I could sympathize with that sentiment. Middle schoolers are the worst. They are old enough to have knowledge of the vulgar ways of the adult world but have yet to develop any of the maturity to handle it. This makes them akin to the spawn of Satan.

"Why are we letting them march this year?" I ventured.

"Apparently the band is too small without them."

"So it's political." I scoffed.

"It always is." He nodded in agreeance

We spent the next couple of moments trying to silently enjoy our short opportunity for peace. While Sam sat and observed our fellow freshman, looking for how they were adjusting, I lied down with my eyes closed. Despite the roughness and burning of the asphalt, I found I could almost tune the world out until a pair of small fluttering feet anchored me back to reality.

"Hey Sam, how's it going?" A girl came out of nowhere to bombard the two of us.

I sat up to look at her and was taken aback by her sapphire eyes. The girl had a face that was simply breathtaking and was complete with waving locks of golden straight hair. She had a rather small frame and a perfect hourglass figure. On her face she wore an expression of pure unfiltered joy.

"Hey Sarah." Sam said to the girl. "You seem to be in a good mood."

"Well I'm super excited because Kim brought Janet and I some vanilla ice cream for lunch and my momma packed me some mineral water that makes your stomach feel all nice." She squealed out. "So what's new with you."

I merely stared at her. What an odd girl.

Sam chuckled and replied, "I just saved a wild Jay from extinction."

Sarah turned her attention to me expectantly. I sat and stared for a few seconds before I realized what she was wanting.

"Oh, uh, I'm Jay Peterson." I introduced myself. I was mentally torn on whether or not I should shake her hand so I ended up nervously putting my hand on the back of my neck.

"Sarah Moon." She gave me a half-smile. "What do you play?"

"I'm the trombone player."

"The?" She asked with a slight raise of her eyebrow.

"In the history of the world, there has never been another." I sarcastically told her.

"Cute," Sarah snarkily responded. "I'm one of the clarinets."

She thinks I'm cute?

Over by the podium Nash's high pitched voice rang out in manner similar to an alarm. He was running up and down the parking lot hitting the glock block like a crazed hooligan. "Stand up and grab your instruments. Now that we are done with basics let's get into the real fun."

After sharing a knowing glance with Sam and Sarah, I rushed out to be the first person to their spot.


End file.
